Page 1 of Moonshot

CHAPTERONE

Mick

Staring down at my Montblanc Summit, it’s now 12:25 p.m. My ass has officially fallen asleep in this brutally hard metal chair. I’ve probably gazed at my expensive watch twenty times since I sat down over an hour ago. Initially surrounded by patients both young and old, I now find only one person remains in this orthopedic clinic waiting room. And that poor sap would be me. A twenty-seven-year-old ex-ballplayer turned medical device salesman, constantly seated amongst the torturous thoughts of what might’ve been.

The fancy timepiece I received for securing a full ride on a baseball scholarship years ago seems to mock me as I turn to look toward the receptionist. As Joanie places the phone receiver down, she peers up from her paperwork and quickly realizes she’s not alone. Giving her a tired smile, I push my black horn-rimmed glasses back up my nose. It’s not her fault I’m still here.

“Hang tight, Michael. I’ll check on them again for you. Thank you for always being so patient,” the sweet middle-aged clerk encourages. The petite woman’s well-coifed blonde bob barely moves as she jumps from her seat smiling, a bit embarrassed, in my direction.

Normally, I bring a book or something to work on while I sit here. The lengthy wait time to meet with one of the providers in this clinic is predictable. Of all of the offices I visit, this one’s the one that always leaves me hanging. They aren’t any larger than the rest, but there’s an air of pretentiousness at this particular location I don’t encounter elsewhere. While my product is important to their livelihoods, seeing me is another story. It’s as if I’m the serving of leafy green vegetables their mother is forcing upon them.

Meeting with these clients is beneficial, ensuring any questions they have are answered, and the devices they need are readily available for their surgical cases. Surgical cases that put a lot of money in their pockets. You’d think that’d be worth eating your veggies without complaint. Yet this is a part of the job I’ve come to accept.

“I don’t have time to deal with some sales guy today. It’s been a busy morning, and I want to grab some lunch. I’m sorry he had an appointment, but no one asked me. Get Ava to see him.”

I overhear the unmistakable pitch of Dr. Stark’s arrogant voice. Dr. Joseph Stark is an orthopedic surgeon specializing in shoulders at Central Virginia Orthopedics. In his mid-thirties, he’s educated, certainly skilled in the OR, not a bad-looking guy, and one pompous asshole. Every interaction I’ve ever had with this man has been condescending. It doesn’t matter that I’m also a trained professional, here to do a job.We are all beneath him.

I’ve worked with FlexPath for over a year now. The work isn’t bad, as far as sales jobs go. I do quite a bit of traveling, but for the most part, my product sells itself. Our company supplies partial knee replacement hardware to the hospitals that perform these procedures. This product has found wide appeal with surgeons in my area. I rarely have to answer any questions, but the high dollar item requires regular visitation to the hospitals to ensure they have the correct stock on hand and routine calls on the orthopedic clinics to be available to address any concerns. When I first started with the company, I was frequently asked to be in the operating room, directly available to the surgeons to answer any questions. This can be a high-stress environment and requires a lot of training. It’s an adrenalin rush being in the OR, yet this is no longer necessary as the procedure has become routine. So until a new device hits the market that requires intensive interoperative education, I make ‘house calls.’ Typically, a monthly visit to each office will suffice, however, the busier practices I call on every other week.

This was never my passion. I didn’t wake up in high school one morning dying to sell prosthetic parts. The only thing on my mind back then was chasing a childhood dream. I was going to be a major league baseball player.

I’d played ball my whole life. What’s more, I was fucking good at it. I’d spent the majority of my youth on a field in one town or another. Juggling school baseball with travel leagues, my focus was one hundred percent on the game. All with the elusive goal of hitting the big leagues one day. I was getting on a baseball card come hell or high water.

My family was overjoyed when I received a scholarship to play at my local University. Not only had I gotten a free ride, but I was close enough they could easily attend games and I could still be home for Sunday dinner when I wasn’t on the road. The world was my oyster.

My mom had worked two jobs for as long as I could remember to put away money for college. She splurged on my graduation gift, purchasing this ridiculously overpriced watch. Fumbling with the dials, I can still hear her sweet voice as she presented the gift to me, her overworked hands trembling. “I know when you’re a big shot ballplayer, you’ll be able to buy your own fancy things. But I wanted you to have something special to remind you of us back home when you’re up at bat miles away.” I feel a slight lift to the corner of my mouth as I recall the proud look in her eyes.

Business was my chosen major when I began my college career, but only because I couldn’t declare baseball as my primary course of study. It seemed like a good backup plan, but when you’re young and invincible, you never contemplate you’ll actually need one. Yet my dream crumbled at the end of my freshman year when I blew out my shoulder. Batter’s shoulder, they called it. Well, whatever it was, it crushed every hope I’d held for my future. And I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces ever since.

“Ava should be out in just a minute,” Joanie advises as she leans into the receptionist window. There’s a twinkle in her gray eyes. Is she proud she managed to convince someone to see me, or is it something more?

“Thanks, Joanie. I appreciate it. I know they’re busy.”

Ava. Or, Elsa as I’ve named her in my fantasies. Now there’s a silver lining to this wasted hour and numb ass. Ava’s a physician assistant in the practice, seeing patients in follow-up postoperatively in addition to regularly scheduled clinic patients.

A Nordic beauty, Ava’s tall, statuesque, and fair-skinned with almost platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. Yet, more striking than her physical beauty is her personality. Her Elsa external vibe may be icy cold, but her nature is warm and endearing. She’s never without a bright smile and appears genuine in her conversations. I’d know because when she makes direct eye contact with you and bestows one of her smiles, it’ll take your damn breath away. Even a beauty queen like Ava couldn’t fake her enchanting interactions. Her persona is a glaring contrast to the self-righteous, arrogant surgeons in this office. Even some of the other physician assistants can be a little haughty at times. But never Ava. I’m sure she’s this way with everyone she meets, but it’s easy to get caught under her spell.

I’ve spent many a night envisioning Ava in my bed. In my head, we’re perfect together. Then I wake up. Sure, I’m attractive, fit, and financially secure. But I’m no match for the highly educated, successful surgeons with impressive bank accounts she’s surrounded by daily. I make a decent living, but I’m well aware I’m a salesman with a bachelor’s degree. Returning to school to obtain my MBA is an option I’ve considered. But I don’t enjoy business. Not too motivating when you’re only contemplating this feat tokeep up with the Joneses, so to speak.

My job isn’t bad. Working hard and remaining flexible, I’ve surprised myself by surpassing the sales goals set by my company. I make a better income than many of my peers, and I keep baseball in my blood, coaching a local little league team. The only thing missing from my life is companionship.

Due to my frequent traveling, a dog isn’t even an option. I’ve wanted one for years, but it wouldn’t be fair to have it couped up all day. And honestly, I’d much rather curl up with someone a lot less hairy.

It’s been years since I’ve been in a relationship with a woman. But that ship has sailed. When my baseball career went up in smoke, so did my girl. As much as I’d love the chance to date someone as beautiful and kind as Ava, I’m not willing to risk another letdown. Losing my girlfriend of five years and my dream of playing in the big leagues was enough devastation for one decade.

I meet plenty of attractive women in my travels. My ball-playing days may be over, but this ex-jock can still score. I stay in shape, dress to impress, and my mom raised me to know how to treat a lady. Then once the evening’s events move somewhere private, all gentlemanly behavior vanishes once the clothes come off.

On the road, calling on out-of-town clinics at least twice a week, I’m thankful to have plenty of new options for occasional company. New options who aren’t looking for a long-distance relationship. There hasn’t been anyone who’s tempted me into anything beyond one night since college. But, if anyone could…

“Hi, Michael. It’s good to see you.”

Looking up at this regal blonde-haired beauty, I try to keep my cool.

Ava

Walking to the reception area, I happily greet Michael. Except for the awkward fact he’s been sitting in our waiting room for over an hour, I’m excited to see him. I look forward to his visits to our office. He’s kind, respectful, and hot as hell. This man has starred in many a fantasy of mine. I bite my lip, realizing it’s taking effort on my part not to let him see the effect he’s having on me.

“Michael, I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. Do you want to follow me to my office? If nothing else, the furniture’s more comfortable.” I hold out my hand to shake, as is customary, but have to steady myself at the jolt of electricity that shoots from his warm, masculine hand into mine.

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